Poem in which a Mute Bird Poos on My Father’s Newspaper 

it is morning, and the sun refuses to rise. maybe it is still mourning the moon that did

not appear last night. my father holds my left hand as we go for a morning walk into the

streets. every element on the street seems to be talking about grief. the empty stores. the

broken bottles. the silent birds. the withering leaves. the still waters. the dark clouds. even

the newspaper my father bought few minutes ago smells like grief. on the newspaper, the

first headline is about a black boy who was kidnapped before he could remember his

name. right now, he would be in tears and nobody will be able to recognize him. the

paper says he always wore a smiley mask on his face. a girl in a black dress is walking

towards us with sunglasses on her face and flowers in her hands. she comes close to us

and takes a turn into the next street. i wonder who allowed such a young girl walk on the

streets alone as early as this. it dawns on me that she’s taking a walk to her mother’s grave.

i know nothing about her father. as my father and i take a seat, i wonder if that girl will

ever survive this war of grief. sometimes you have to be brave enough to welcome grief

with open arms because it’s your only means of survival despite the storm in it. there is a

kind of fear that grips you when you don’t feel sad after the exit of your lover. you begin to

wonder how much you know about grief. you begin to wonder why you can’t feel grief. your

worst battle becomes the one in between your knowledge and your feelings. i shut

my eyes for some seconds. a silent bird drops its poo on my father’s paper. my head wakes.

Parody: How Europe Underdeveloped Africa

Let’s say I wore the skin of a white man.

Let’s say you are a brown skin girl.

I sailed to the borders & coasts of your body.

You welcomed me warmly with hospitality.

We ate, drank, laughed, loved & lived

together like siblings of one big family —

like lovers who just found themselves in the moon.

Until I began to make partitions on the geography of your body.

I climbed the full mountains on your chest

& named them after a tower filled with water —

I called them water towers because they are

vital headwaters to other rivers flowing in and out of your body.

I navigated every part of you from top to bottom;

North, East, West & South. I found some rivers you do not know

exist in your body —  I gave them names like Nile, Benue & Niger.

I even discovered a confluence point where I can tickle until you

explode in a great rush of water. I drilled into your hills, valleys

& lands, ransacking & scavenging for mineral resources

like iron, gold, diamonds and even crude oil.

I sucked you dry of your abundant resources —

especially the oil that runs from your thighs

down to your broken toes. I transformed your full firm

breasts into fallen heroes. I took the sun away from you

& left you in the dark where you will no longer be able to

see your vision. Now, I am watching you from afar —

You are helpless. You are wallowing in the misery I caused you.

You are wandering from one spot to the same spot,

stylishly asking me to do more of what I did to you previously,

even as you are making futile efforts to regain your pride.